The sun was shining bright, the chatter of students echoing around me. A cold breeze cut across my face. Students walked by, smiling, carefree, living like nothing could touch them.
But the strongest feeling I had right now, seeing three ridiculously tall dudes surrounding me with obvious intent to do some very fucking horrible things, was pure, unadulterated fear.
Not the type of fear you get from watching a scary movie. Not the kind you feel asking your crush out. Hell, not even the fear of coming home with a shit report card, knowing your ass is about to get chewed up.
No. This was a death fear. A primal, gut-twisting dread. And there they were—three muscle-bound bastards, ready to beat the living shit out of me.
"YOOO GUYS… I DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING I SAID BEFORE GRADUATION! YOU'RE ALL SMART, BRIGHT INDIVIDUALS!" I shouted, waving my hands like a man trying to stop a tidal wave.
For context: before getting accepted into this high school, I may—or may not—have said some terrible things about a few muscle-head fucks. You know the type: brains the size of a pea but biceps the size of my head.
"Nah, we're not beating you up yet," one of them said, grinning like maniacs. "We'll wait until orientation to get you back for what you said."
"Well, you can't blame me," I said, pointing a middle finger at one of them. "You used to walk around high school bullying anyone who looked at you wrong. And also… you're all ugly as shit."
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY??!!?!" Paul, one of the bullies, tried to lunge at me, but the other two held him back. My stomach sank. I wasn't just worried… I was fucking terrified of whatever they had planned if this was them holding back.
They turned and started to leave. Before disappearing, one of them smirked:"Remember the name of our group, you wimpy fuck—the Muscle Head Hightop Group."
I scoffed. "Your group name is just as dumb as your haircuts. And seriously… who gets a hightop with no fade? Not even prison camps punish the worst criminals like that."
They paused. Damn. I had hit a nerve. I didn't realize until now that words in this school carried weight. Back in my old school, I was protected. Here at Shalu Academy, the weak bowed to the strong—and sympathy was a luxury nobody gave a shit about.
"Wait, I'm sorry! Let me make it up to you by gettin—" I barely got the words out before an afterimage of Paul flashed past my eyes.
Next thing I knew, his fist slammed into my stomach.
"You must've forgotten we're all Flow users of the Martial Class, huh?" he sneered. I had no time to answer—he knocked the wind clean out of me.
He threw me straight into the next bully, Chris, who slammed me into the ground like I weighed nothing. I braced myself. One more hit like this… and I might not get back up.
The final punch came from Marcel. His fist glowed with purple energy, his face twisted with pure anger and hate, like he was ready to kill me on the spot.
The energy from his fist made the sheets in the alley flutter and fly around like they had minds of their own. And when he finally launched it…
I could only think:
"Am… I… GOING TO DIE OVER A DAMN JOKE?"